How to Hook a Killer
by Flame Angel Lee Maxwell
Summary: Greg, our favorite lab tech, has found a killer's secret. When he tells one of his friends, he inadvertently places her in the killer's crosshairs. He's racing the clock and battling the evidence for clues to save her. :::CURRENTLY ON HIATUS:::
1. It's What I Do

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How to Hook a Killer

Chapter One: It's What I Do

A Greg fic

By: Ri

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A/N:

I do not own CSI, much to my chagrin. I do, however, own a HOMICIDE cap, if that means anything, as well as an extensive collection of bones and forensic books, as well as the CSI Season Two DVD pack. Ha, in a sense, I own Greg. *ponders* Very interesting… I like this. Anyways, The fic is a work stemming from my anguish over not finding any Greg fics (that are worthy of note.) That on it's own pissed me off, but all the GS fics really began to worry me. So, for a fresh change, I'm writing a Greg fic. Glee! And, I might have future Greg/OC pairings, although I'm still mulling over this decision. Anyhow, this is around season four, as far as events and so forth. Enjoy and much love to Greg.

Greg: Hey! I'm getting a fanfic about me?

Yes.

Greg: Really? Hmmm… Not that I'm complaining, but, why?

Because we love you.

Greg: Cool. Go ahead.

Squee. Want to add anything?

Greg: Nah, not really. I'm just going to hang out here for a while.

Until Thursday?

Greg: And then some.

SQUEE!

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Another day, another swab. Greg was sitting on his stool, finishing the last bits of the mitochondria DNA test that Catherine had requested on the body of the hooker that had been uncovered in the desert, with all identifying markers removed, to compare to the grieving mother who was trying to bring her daughter home. The test tube finished it's processing in the machine, and now he had to separate each individual marker of the DNA from both women to compare to each other. After a tedious and tense hour, he had his results printing when Catherine popped her head into his lab.

"Tell me something good, Greg."

"Well, the DNA I pulled is a match, however, I ran the hair that you recovered in the vic's hands. I had enough time to run it, and found that you're looking for a close relation to the vic. Seven markers match the mother and three match the victim."

"Damn," she muttered as she took the results from him, "Thanks Greg, I appreciate it."

"It's what I do Cat." he answered, leaning back in his chair as he crossed his arms, eyes falling on his inbox. 

"It's what I do…"


	2. The Secret Comes Out

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How to Hook a Killer

Chapter Two: The Secret Comes Out

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A/N:

Well, the last chapter was short and sweet, eh? *g* Who knows? It just might serve as a teaser, or as a repellant, who knows?

Greg: Hey, that was an insult! 

No, not at all, people are just picky about what they read and review. I know I am, hence my annoyance with numerous genres of Mary-Sues.

Greg: Huh. Okay.

*yoink*

Greg: HEY! My boxers!

Shh! Mustn't tell anyones about this, precious…

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He was well into the graveyard shift when the welcome smell of coffee drifted to his nostrils. Looking longingly in the direction of the break room he sighed when he focused back on his work. Kitty called in a brief salutation to him, which he returned lightly, on her was to Grissom's office. His pen hovered above the result sheet duplicate he had run off when something struck him.

This was a Mongoloid. A Mongoloid with a penchant for prostitutes. He dug through his stack of completed case requests. He found what he was looking for.

Three Mongoloids. Two Johns and a stripper. Catherine. She had a case about a hooker. What was the vic's ethnicity?

He rushed out, dodging other techs and CSI's in the hallways until he caught up with her near Grissom's office. She turned when he called her name.

"What is it Greg?"

"The DNA report I gave you."

"What about it?"

"What was the nationality, er- origin?"

"Asian, why?"

"No reason, I just need to record it. For my files."

"Okay…"

"Thanks Cat!" he waved as she walked off, trying to make sense of his behavior.

"What was that about Greg?"

He spun around, guilt written on his features as he acknowledged Kitty. "Nothing really. Can I speak to you back in the lab?"

"Sure…" Kitty was suspicious, he could tell from her measured response as her dark, almond-shaped eyes bored into his, searching for a clue.

Once they were safely alone in his lab, Greg began to detail what he found. Kitty listened quietly, pouring over each case file critically as he went on. When he finished, she spoke.

"Just because they're all of Oriental descent doesn't mean there's a serial killer out there. Besides, there doesn't seem to be a connection between the victims."

"There is. All tie into the darker side of Vegas."

"Prostitution?"

"Bingo."

"Any calling cards? Similar modus operandi?"

"There was a single origami rose recovered near the victims."

"And?"

"Similar attempts at mutilation. And trace found some hairs of animal origin and fibers from cloth vehicle seats, shag rug and clothing articles."

"Hn. No hits on anything?"

"Nope, not yet."

"You should tell Griss."

"I want to be sure first."

"In that case, I'm sorry Greg, but I'm trying to be critical in case it's a red herring. I can't agree on that theory at this point. I mean, no one else picked up on it."

"I get your point, but do me a favor? Don't mention this to anyone, please?"

"Mention what? All I heard was a confirmation of heritage on a recent vic you finished processing. No shame in that." she grinned at him with a secret wink, pushing her glasses up to help control the mass of glossy black locks held up in messy buns.

Greg placed the files back in his cabinet. "I appreciate it Kitty."

"No problem-o, Mr. Robot-o. Hey, d'you think I can catch a ride home with you?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. See you in a few?"

"I'll pick you up."

"I'll be in ballistics." With that, she left, and he was left to listen to her footsteps fading away. He sighed, and continued to work on the requests flooding his box. Something just told him they had a serial killer, preying on Asian descendants that were connected to prostitution. 

The ballpoint pen clattered noisily onto the floor, but Greg made no move to pick it up. He could just be feeling paranoid, but Kitty might be the next target for this killer.

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Well, that's all for tonight! I got such lovely reviews. And someone is daring to accept my challenge and challenge me! That makes me so happy!

Greg: So, you're challenged?

Not mentally, I don't think…

Greg: In what, then?

A fan fiction writing challenge. It's going to be a sequel, but I'm waiting for the e-mail response before I release any more details. *very evil grin*

Greg: Hn… Hey, maybe you should explain who Kitty is.

Aye, ye have a point thar.

Greg: Please don't talk like a pirate.

Fine. Kitty exists, but she doesn't have a name in the show or a large billing. I saw Greg flirting with her in one episode, where Grissom interrupts and she leaves before they're finished, leaving behind a confused and wounded Greg, and realized she fit my OC profile perfectly. She's, obviously from the final paragraph, of Oriental descent. Wears glasses and relatively casual clothing in the lab. Short, strait black hair usually held up in numerous buns/ponytails/braids. Dark hazel eyes, that range from light blue/green, to blackish brown. She's barely five foot, but her personality makes up for the lacking height. She's highly outgoing and goofy, but utterly dedicated to her work. She tends to end up crashing on the sofa in the break room after long hours, which irks Grissom. Specializes in ballistics and blood splatter and is learning more about DNA, imaging and profiling by working with the various departments. Basically a "go-to gal."

Greg: Why not share her whole life story?

Ah, you know I appreciate a good show of sarcasm. But that is hardly even the glossed basics.

Greg: You try too hard.

I know.

Greg: Give me back my boxers.

No.


	3. A Skulking Killer

Chapter Three: A Skulking Killer

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Greg: Give them back.

Why?

Greg: *uncomfortable shift* *whisper whisper*

Oh! *giggle*

Greg: It's not funny! It hurts!

It "rubs you the wrong way?"

Greg: Hey! You said you wouldn't tell!

I didn't, you did.

Greg: Damn you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's getting colder." she sighed blissfully, wrapping her bare arms around herself as she looked toward the nearly full moon.

"Mm…" he mumbled, digging around in his pockets for his car keys.

"I always loved when the weather got like this; Chill in the air, moon and stars shining, and such a clear sky. It makes a person feel alive, you know?"

He fished the keys out from his back pocket. Damn cargo pants. "I can see why," he answered as the doors unlocked, "It's beautiful."

"Greg," said Kitty, as she shoved her briefcase into the trunk of the 1970 280SE, Greg's converted pride, complete with custom flame paint job and tricked out sound system, "I've been thinking about the evidence, and I'm a believer that it actually could be a serial killer. I went and pulled up more cases that fit the criteria for the recent ones and found some going back as far as five years. It all makes sense, and, to tell you the truth, I started to look into each case with a magnifying glass and found more similarities, which modified as the killer matured. The first kill was really sloppy, almost a desperation kill. These latest ones are done with such skill and care, almost. Of the Las Vegas area, there's about twenty cases that match up. I think we've got an organized serial killer out there."

"Shit." Greg whistled, as he slid into his car, turning the key in the ignition.

"Yeah, can you believe that?" answered Kitty as she settled in on the bench seat, taking care to not kick ay of Greg's CD holders scattered about the floor.

"Wow. Oh, sorry! I meant to clean up, but I wasn't expecting the company."

"Sorry."

"Don't be, it's infinitely better than my usual."

"You talk to yourself?"

"Only in the morning."

*************************************************************************************

__

So, you found out, eh, lovely?

I knew you would. It's your job, it would only have been a matter of time. However, I was not expecting you to hunt down other, older cases. That is a pleasant surprise, and yet terribly dangerous for me. So, lovely, I'll have to visit you and let you know my plans. I've got to keep you silent. We'll see if your friends can find you before it's too late. 

I've been waiting for you… I've waited years for you, my love, and I can't wait any longer to see you…

*************************************************************************************

A few moments after Greg's vehicle pulled out of the parking lot, a dark colored car turned on its engine from the empty business center across the street and slowly coasted off in the direction his car was going. The figure inside seemed anxious, and yet calm. A slow grin stole across his lips as he tailed the car ahead of him, occupants unawares of him.

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Squee! Another chapter finished! *dances*

Greg: Whoa. Hold on. You wrote but I still don't get my boxers back?

Fine, take them.

Greg: Thank you. *changes behind desk*

Aw, I couldn't see anything from here.

Greg: You'll stay super-glued there until you stop stealing my boxers!

*puppy dog eyes* But… but I… *whimper pathetically*

Greg: I smell trouble.


	4. Silent Scream In the Night

Chapter Four: Silent Screams in the Night

Greg: Don't do it! Please! I'll do anything!

*sniffle* Any…thing?

Greg: Yes, just don't use the sad puppy eyes!

Unglue me from the chair?

Greg: As long as you don't try to snatch my boxers again.

Done!

Greg: Alright.

Yay! Thank you, Greg.

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He dropped her off at her apartment complex, waiting for her to be let into the lobby before he drove off. His mind was heavy with the information Kitty had given him. It appeared as if his instinct was right.

During the ride, Kitty had told him about her latest case for Grissom. They enjoyed griping about cases that were driving them insane with the complex specifications, which most all Grissom's cases entailed. She was dealing with a nightclub slaying, and, since there were so many different bullets discharged, she was having difficulties matching every bullet to an individual weapon in the time frame that Griss had set up for her. And, since she took classes on digital reconstruction, he also wanted her to create a computer simulation of the crime scene from the blueprints and bullet trajectories she calculated and documented while doing field research, to compare to eyewitness accounts and the suspect's stories. Typical caseload for her, but it was about four cases combined into one high-profile case.

****

Good thing she loves what she does. Otherwise, where would we be without her ballistic expertise? Rich is brilliant, but not quite as well-versed as Kitty. She took courses from Quantico, for Christ's sake. Can't get much better than the FBI training. Greg mused.

Satisfied she was safe, his mind now secure, he continued on home.

*************************************************************************************

However, back at the complex, all was not well. The unknown vehicle was partially concealed behind a weed infested back alley, lights and engine off. The lock on the front entry had been expertly picked, and the door was left slightly ajar.

Kitty, utterly unawares of the approaching danger on the stairs, had turned her stereo on to some meditation music and had changed into loose yoga garb. She was stretching and practicing her breathing. Her briefcase -she occasionally brought her work home, and the computer simulation was no different- was discarded in her bedroom, on the swivel chair. 

Finding her center a few minutes later, Kitty began to go through the positions, but was interrupted by a knock on her door. Eyes snapping open, she sighed, rolling back into normal upright posture. She called out, "Coming!" and crossed over to the door, her hand on the doorknob.

"Nowicki Kobayashi?"

"Yes, who is it?"

"I'm one of Captain Brass's men, miss. He sent me here to check on you."

"May I inquire why?"

"There was a threat by an accosted criminal, that you helped put behind bars, on your life. He just wants to make sure your location is secure."

She peered through the peephole. The man was holding up his identification, and appeared to be legitimate. "Okay, just a second."

She slid the deadbolt out of place, removing the three other locks she had put up on her doorframe and turned the handle…

*************************************************************************************

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Ah, lovely, your voice is just as I thought. Suspicious and polite. It's like terrycloth; comfortable, soft, versatile and soothing. You followed procedure perfectly, love. Only thing you forgot is how easy it is to falsify police identification, especially for a 'plain clothes officer.' 

You're so close lovely, I can touch you in just a few moments. Just a bit more… And then you're mine, and your friends will need to find you. Before I claim you. Forever.

I'm ready lovely, just open the door…

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Well, this is just the right place to leave off. Cliffhanger! ^ ^

Greg: What happens?

I'm not telling!

Greg: Curse you!

The next few chapters are all you, how about that?

Greg: Deal.

Oh, and a clarification. Italicized words are the killer thinking. Bold words would be everyone else. Comprende?


	5. Missing Kitty

Chapter Five: Missing Kitty

Greg: So, have you gotten that e-mail yet?

No, it saddens me. I'm so intrigued, and even hunted down the story. I'd love to hear the ideas.

Greg: Hn. Did you like tonight's episode?

HELL YEAH! Very nice shots of you, if I may say.

Greg: But I was a jerk to Cat.

But we love you anyways. *shrug* I giggled.

Greg: I felt cheap.

*melodramatic* I feel so cheap. I feel so used!

Greg: You've been talking to your 'Kit' friend again, haven't you?

Yes, although she is not to be confused for 'Kitty' as she is 'Kitteh.'

Greg: . . .

*yoink* *giggle*

Greg: Damn it. Not again.

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The next graveyard shift had begun almost four hours ago. Greg had been busy with the backlog, and hadn't had a chance to grab any coffee or talk to anyone yet. Glancing over at his clock, he decided he earned a well-deserved break.

He poured a nice big mug of Blue Hawaiian coffee, his special coffee. That was the best thing he tasted all day. He allowed his eyelids to close as he savored the taste, and let the caffeine seep its way into his bloodstream, rejuvenating his energy. He heard Grissom come into the lounge, and "Hn" ed in greeting.

"Greg, do you know where Kitty is?

Any relaxation he found immediately drained from him as his stomach clenched. He gulped in anxiety, "What do you mean? Has she gone AWOL? Or MIA?"

"She isn't here and didn't call in sick. She didn't answer her home phone, cell, beeper or text message."

"Ah, the 21st century. Isn't it hard to reach someone with all the new technological advances? Something so easy is oh so hard to do, especially when trying to reach-"

"Listen, have you spoken to her at all?"

"Ah, last night. I," he looked down at his coffee cup, "drove her home. But that's all we did. Drive home. Yeah…"

Grissom raised his left eyebrow. 

Greg went to say something else, but decided to contemplate his coffee.

"Well, since you know where he residence is, how about you go and check on her?"

"Gris, I've got this dire request from Sarah- she'll rip my eyes out if I don't do it- and a follow up from Nick, and besides, you gave me some samples-"

"Greg, just go."

"Okay, you're the boss."

"Let me know when you get there, what's happening."

"Sure thing."

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He pulled into a parking spot not too far from the entrance of her building. There appeared to be no signs of any foul play. He only hoped that the same was true for her apartment.

After suavely convincing the manager to let him into her room, he ascended the flights to her loft. There was nothing amiss on the lock.

Once the door was opened however, a different tale was shown. 

Greg turned away in horror, covering his mouth with a shaking hand. As though on autopilot, he pulled the cell phone from his jacket pocket and dialed Grissom. Only after the connection was made did he dare turn his head to look back into her loft.

"Gris, we've got a situation. Send Brass. And I think we'll need a couple CSI's."

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Greg: You love cliffs.

Oh yeah. You looked hot on the People's Choice Awards.

Greg: I'm flattered.

You should be.

Greg: And every guy needs his boxers back.

Nothin' doin'.

Greg: Damn you.

I love you too.


	6. Red Rose Red Rose

Chapter Six: Red Rose, Red Rose

Greg: I thought we had an accord.

We did. We do.

Greg: But, you broke it.

No, you said _try_ and I _succeeded_.

Greg: . . . Good point.

Exactly.

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Squad cars and emergency vehicles had already responded to the distress call and were clogging up Clark Avenue when a CSI Tahoe arrived on the scene. Grissom began his calm and detailed analysis from the moment he received Greg's call. The young CSI hopeful had sounded horrified and shocked. There was no light in his voice as he mechanically described the scene as he saw it to his supervisor.

When he told the other CSI's of the situation, they seemed to shut down, as though stunned that one of their numbers had been targeted by some killer. They immediately split into their groups to see if their crime scene assessment could assist the Missing Persons task force in finding her. Grissom took Sarah with him, leaving Catherine in charge of the group left back in the lab to pull up phone records, background information, anything they could find that would give them a clue as to who the perp could be. Greg would get some desperately needed field training by helping Sarah and himself process the ballistic tech's living space.

The police had blocked off the apartment entrance up to a half block away, officers standing by to ensure that no civilian got any closer while the investigators were working. It could be that the criminal was there in the crowd, getting a twisted sense of pleasure by seeing all the fuss he stirred up. 

"Gris! You'll want to look at this."

He turned towards Sarah, strolling over to where she squatted by the door, removing his left hand from his pocket to detach his sunglasses, examining the lock closely. The were no signs of trauma at first look but upon closer scrutiny there were faint scratches and stress marks upon the metal, indicating someone with experience picking locks. He frowned, pulling on a latex glove and carefully teasing a fiber strand from one of the starches.

"Get someone to photograph this. Then let's go upstairs and meet up with Greg."

Sarah nodded in the affirmative, "I'm on it."

While she set up an officer with a camera, Brass strode up and greeted him with his usual frank manner.

"Gil, we got a few calls last night about a prowler. I sent a man down here to feel things out and he didn't see anything suspicious so he left. Around two tonight I get a radio from your guy, Sanders, about a missing person. My guys haven't even entered the apartment yet. I know how you hate a compromised scene."

"Thanks for the consideration Brass. Shall we?"

"Be my guest."

They headed into the building together, passing a small, unkempt woman being interviewed by an officer. As they reached the second landing, Sarah joined them, falling into step easily as they continued the sixth floor. There was an officer stationed at the door, and propped against the door beside him, looking like he had been informed he was going to die in less than a week, was Greg Sanders. He sighed when they were within feet of the doorjamb.

"It's a mess in there. We've been waiting for you."

"Are you ready?"

"Yeah. Let's do this."

The team already had their gloves on, and stepped into the ravaged apartment. They had to stop and assess the obvious signs of a struggle that occurred here. Though sparsely furnished, at least half of the existing furniture was up-ended or thrown at an awkward angle. Drapery was pulled down, dishes broken, clothing strewn everywhere. From the edge of a shag rug, Grissom pulled a button that must have been pulled off during the attack. It didn't appear to belong to a female garment, it was far to large for one of Kitty's shirts, it very well may have come from her abductor.

Grissom sent Sara to check out the attached "dining nook" - aka a small table with two chairs placed beside a window near the stove and refrigerator- and Greg to start of the bedroom. They had barely worked any further when they heard an audible gasp come from the back of the apartment. The bedroom.

Rushing to see what it was he had uncovered, fearing the worst, Gris and Sara stopped in the doorway. There, kneeling besides the bed, was Greg. And laying amid the tangle of a white comforter and white sheets, was a single flash of brilliant red.

An origami rose.

"He has her."

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Greg: G'damn it, go to sleep! You have school tomorrow! 

Screw school, man! I have a plot to write! And besides, I've got blackmail… Or should I say "pink" mail?

Greg: Don't you even…

Ah, ah. Remember out terms?

Greg: *grumble grumble*

*fluffs his hair* I'm just messing around with you. Oh! And speaking of which, Kuroi Neko-kun, I owe you a great big attack of gratitude. Or will these suffice? *hands over Greg's boxers ceremoniously*

Greg: Whoa! Now you're giving out my boxers to reviewers?

Yeah, I guess you could say that. Which also reminds me.

Greg: Oh God.

Anolle, have no fear, this is just a smutty, angst Greg fic to get my mind out of the gutter. *gasp* Is it possible? Thanks so much for your review. I'm trying to capture the essence of Greg, but Eric Szmanda does it so much better. *complimentary Greg plushie* SuperKevsLass, you rock my socks! I hope the past few chapters have done well by you. *Greg's phone number* csifan1, I hope to hear back from you son! I'm practically wetting myself in anticipation! *Greg boxers on a plushie* RainbowsnStars I really am flattered that you reviewed so quickly. I hope to hear from you, as the rest of y'all, again soon! Much love!

Greg: Yes, everyone, please, encourage her. Then her fingers are too busy writing to steal my boxers.

Aw… I hadn't thought about that…


	7. Ring Him Up A Bell

Chapter Seven: Ring Him Up a Bell

Greg: Where did you get all this merchandise?

I plead the fifth.

Greg: …

…

Greg: And why did you tell people I'm a BADGER?

Uh… the devil made me do it?

Greg: Apparently so, since you're such good buddies….

Not fair! We only meet for tea on Tuesdays! Bunk-o on Fridays and emergency phone calls…

Greg: Precisely.

Shut up man!

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Working field the first few times with Catherine had been great. Stressful in the knowledge he could make a mistake and screw up royally, but still fun. However, he hadn't really known the vic on a personal and professional basis. Kitty was his friend and colleague. Hell, they went out to catch the Early Bird Breakfast everyday permitting. 

Processing her home was difficult. It was sparse as far as amount of space taken up with few personal touches -those were all down at her lab station- and yet she had more than enough stuff to help indicate the struggle that occurred. He saw the roses she had picked up during overtime lunch break a few days ago scattered on the linoleum from their shattered porcelain vase. A small pool of blood puddled on the tile in the den room, hardly more than a beat up plush sofa and a costly entertainment center, with some gravitational splatter of medium velocity on the adjacent wall. Cushions from the sofa were pulled off, tossed against and under the card table -which served as a kitchen table- and wall. A straw mat, used for yoga exercises, was bunched up near a stereo. A trail of blood droplets lead back into the bedroom, where the bed covers were bundled and kicked around, a small hamper half-filled with laundry, a laptop computer sat on a rickety roll top desk along with a printer, scanner and wireless internet connection. A CD player was set up on a bedside table, a digital clock reading the time, 5:36 a.m. 

Grissom pulled open the drawer in the bedside table, extracting a firearm and registration from the abyss. He cocked an eyebrow at his fellow processors, "Did you know she had a gun?"

"No. I knew she worked with them, among other areas, but never knew she had a gun."

"Greg?"

"No, but I guess it figures, doesn't it? I mean, she's a ballistics expert. She works in a crime lab. She's seen enough cases to know that she needs protection for a situation like this one. She even knew the best kind of weapon to get."

"A revolver?"

"A Glock. But this time it didn't help her."

Greg closed his eyes as his boss said that, trying to picture the scene in his head. It wasn't coming through, so he got up and began to pace the hallway connecting the bed and bath to the den and kitchen. **The front door… **The UNSUB had to get in somehow, maybe he came in through the front door.

He knelt down beside the latch, looking closely at it. No unusual or suspicious scrapes on the bar, no jimmied latch in the handle. Everything was in order. So she either knew or trusted the intruder. He was leaning towards trust. Although, she did have an extensive -at least for criminalistics lab techs- number of "friends" she met when on her days off. A young woman has to have fun, especially when in a career like this one. Maybe it was one of them, the guys that passed her a drink with their number on the napkin, that came in. 

He immediately dismissed that idea with a shake of the head. No way she'd let one of them in after she'd been working all night and was getting ready for… sleep? To be honest, he wasn't even sure if she slept every day after work or if she just continued working without getting pestered by Eckley. After all, her catch-phrase was, 'Coffee: You can sleep when you're dead!' It was amusing, until now, when she could very well be dead. 

"Good idea, Greg. Let's try to recreate her steps." Grissom's voice startled him out of his reverie, "You dropped her off. It takes five- ten minutes to climb the stairs, thirty seconds to unlock, get in, and re-lock. Then, she walks into her room, puts down her briefcase and… what? What does she do? Sara?"

"I'd go wash up."

"Greg?"

"I put on music, grab some chow and play some video games."

"Hmmm… I'd feed my cockroaches and get some shut-eye. So, I'm guessing Kitty isn't really like any of us."

"Then how do we figure it out?"

Grissom wandered over to the stereo, turning it on. Immediately, the soothing sounds of a forest, stream and bamboo flutes filled the air. He listened to it for a bit, then glanced at the bunched up mat on the floor. "She did yoga. So after dropping her gear, she changes into exercise clothes, sets up her mat and starts working on her yoga tape." he stopped the haunting melody, looking at how much ribbon had been feed, "Yoga is a very ordered regimen. She probably went through an entire side each session. The tape suggests she only went through her breathing exercises before she was interrupted."

Greg stood up from his crouch near the door, "By the intruder?"

"Likely."

"But who would she let in? Kitty would only let in someone she knew or trusted. She didn't trust readily. So, that would narrow the search down, right?"

"True. But if he posed as someone she could possibly trust, that throws the net open again."

"That would mean he's been following her, or at least knows a bit about her."

"Greg, your phone."

He hadn't even noticed the shrill jingle as his phone. Pulling it from the holder on his belt, he flipped it open to answer, "Hello?"

"Greg?"

A faint voice, strained and shaky. Her voice. "Kitty? Is that you?"

"Yah-sure."

"Where are you? What happened?"

A rustling, meaning the phone was being passed off. 

"Kitty?" he ignored the interest of his boss, Sara and Brass.

"Mr. Sanders, that is your name?"

"Yes… Who is this?"

"That is not for me to reveal but for you to find out. I trust you found the scene, hmm?"

"Yes, but-"

"Collect the evidence. I believe there is a sufficient amount left there, is there not?"

"Yes, but I-"

"Find out who I am. I have her and unless you can stop me, I will kill her in three days."

"What?! Are you-"

"That is your quest. If you can handle it, lab tech." _Click._

"Son of a-" he hung up, feeling defeated.

"Greg? What was that all about?"

"The perp that has Kitty called. She's alive, but not for long. We have to figure out who it is."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Greg: Another cliffie?

Oh yah. I'm just evil like that. I just stop functioning in the brain stem after awhile.

Greg: It shows. Trust me.

I take that as a compliment.

Greg: Freak.

I'm a freak, TOUCH ME!

Greg: *poke*

NO MOMMY! NOT THE BAD TOUCH!

Greg: You are twisted.

Yeah, I'm fully aware of that. And I apologize to everyone out there for being so late in updating. I watched the State of the Union address and decided my IQ fled in terror at the prospect of having to listen to patriotic propaganda for hours on end. I decided I'd rather be sporked to death in a tragic lunchroom accident.

Greg: Really? I'm sure it can be arranged.

Please. I need it.


	8. Random Plot Spoiler

****

SPOILER!

Greg: You're hardly into this and already writing a spoiler?

… Yes.

Greg: Why not give away the ending?!

Good idea.

Greg: What?! You are?

No…

Greg: Okay… good.

Why do you care?

Greg: Because you're using my boxers as bribery for reviews!

Am not!

Greg: Are too!

Not!

Greg: Too!

*hides freebies* No…

Greg: *eyebrow*

*cough* *fidget*

Greg: *stare*

*melt in fear* Uh… *squeek* Here's the spoiler!

Greg: Why I oughtta…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He closed his eyes, leaning his pounding head against the headrest as they squeeled around a sharp corner, horns blaring. The lights flashed against his eyelids; blue, red, blue, red, blue, red… black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*wrestling* No! My preciousssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssessssssssss!!!!!!!

Greg: My boxers!

Hope you like the spoiler! Sorry about my delay! I was working on an account over at www.adultfanfiction.net! 'Tis great fun! Nice **GREG/GRISSOM** slash!

Greg: *deadpans*

*retrieves boxers* *locks self in room with computer and raided booty* Yarr…

Greg: Open up, you pervert!

^ ^ You honor me!


	9. Shock Recovery

Chapter Eight: Shock Recovery

Greg: So, now that you've managed to piss a bunch of reviewers off by writing a **spoiler **for the **end of the plot**, are you actually going to write an actual chapter?

Yeah, I figured it was better than writing an essay about the AARP and their policy influencing.

Greg: Yeah, it would seem.

And I'm still on a high from being the cause of an argument between two sophomores in college. It makes me feel sexy, you know?

Greg: And you left me locked in your room all weekend so I couldn't go and protect you?

… Yeah. I wanted that moment in the dorm shower damn it!

Greg: …?

Actually, I didn't. I was avoiding most everyone all weekend and trying to jump start my plot writing.

Greg: Ah. Write.

Right?

Greg: No. Write. You teased these people, abandon them for a weekend and over a month and they fucking deserve it.

*salute* Yes sir! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Greg, can you remember what was said? Anything that might help us?" Captain Brass immediately took the young lab tech aside to question him before the others could influence him through their inquiries.

"Yeah, he has her. He … wants us to find him before he kills her. He gave us a week."

"How about his accent or voice. Is there anything distinctive about it?"

"It sounded… of a lower education that was trying to cover up that fact. He asked to make sure he had my name right and…" Greg paused to reflect back on the phone conversation. "He sounded like either an immigrant or someone who had been influenced by heavily accented peers."

"And that's all?"

"All for now. If I remember anything else, I'll let you know immediately."

"Alright, Sanders. Do you mind if my guys set up a tap on your home phone?"

"Not at all. Here, take my keys."

The captain left after taking the young man's keys, nodding to the other CSIs and motioning to a few of his men. Gil took it upon himself to talk to Greg, as a supervisor and … friend. 

"Greg, can we-?" he cocked his head in the direction of the relative seclusion of Kitty's cramped pantry.

"Sure."

After ensuring that they were relatively shielded from the investigators prowling the premises, Grissom turned back to his DNA technician, who was currently in the process of examining his fingernails. He could tell from the hunched shoulders and avoidant eyes that Greg was trying to hide just how tired and worried he was from his boss.

This wasn't going to be easy.

"Greg?"

"Look, I know what you're going to say Griss, and I would really rather just work. I have to help out somehow. I mean, I saw her last, I should have told her to go right to bed and ignore any knocking or whatever. I could have even invited her over to my place for a drink or video game before going off. Something, anything."

"Greg, you're in shock. You have to go and get some sleep," Grissom noted the argumentative posture of his lab tech, "even if only for a few hours. Go and come back here when you can't stand it anymore. We'll need you fresh and ready to do some heavy duty work."

The fight went completely out of the young man, catching the morbid stipulation in his last three words. Paling, he nodded and rushed to join the Captain and his men for a lift back to his place after calling a quick 'farewell' to Sara.

It was going to be an eternity trying to fall asleep.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

W00t! I am done with this installment! 

Greg: Ahem.

Oh, yeah. I owe y'all an apology. I have been really fricking busy for the last month. It all started when I found out that I was failing my AP Government class, so I was trying to catch up. And guess what? I now have a weighted B from all the work I was doing! *dances for joy* And I also recently attended the MegaCon in Orlando! You may have seen me, I was one of the two Faye Valentine's there. For clarification, I was the one with purple hair, glasses, cigarettes and hanging around the female dressed as Spike, one as Vicious, another as Rikku, another as Julia, one as a Mary-Sue and one as a Writer. We made for a strange and sexy bunch.

Greg: When did you develop a social life?

Since I decided to stop freaking out over the mundane stuff and become a cynical and apathetic bitch about it.

Greg: Ah hell, who did the transformation?

I blame the school for ruining my dreams through their unrealistic expectations and demands on weary minds and bodies, thus desecrating my spirit.

Greg: Very poetic.

Thank you. Stay tuned for more inane squabbling! And, since a new semester has begun with five weeks for me to fall behind, more chapters and actual progressions! Glee!


End file.
